


Father Knows Best

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Kink Meme, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:46:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3669552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm Hawke finds one of his son's friends hiding in his wine cellar. From one apostate to another, he decides they're both in need of a little comfort.</p>
<p>AU in which Malcolm survives instead of Leandra.</p>
<p>Self-fill for the kink meme prompt here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11381.html?thread=49382261#t49382261</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual, titling fics is not my thing, so thank you to Vee for that.
> 
> If the pairings here make you O_o don't worry. There's no Anders cheating on Hawke. Promise.

The problem with having such a large home was that it was often too quiet when it was empty. For Garrett Hawke, he grew up with his little brother and sister, mother and father all living under one roof in a little farmhouse outside Lothering. While he had his own space to sleep in, it was hardly larger than a closet, and he could hear his siblings rough-housing in the room next to his. It was simply something you got used to. And when he found the little mabari puppy in the field, and the puppy imprinted on him, his tiny space became even smaller over the years.

Then his mother died. And then the Blight hit and they were running. Before he knew it, Bethany lay dead in his father's arms. They went to Kirkwall as a family of three. And maybe it was out of spite or out of the need to do something other than sit in a little Lowtown hovel day after day, or possibly he just didn't like the work their father found for them, but Carver decided life would be better with the templars. The fucking templars. Hawke tried not to dwell on it too much. The joke was on Carver, though. He gathered enough coin from an expedition to the Deep Roads (and the less said about that, the better), his grandfather's will, and with the name he'd made for himself over the last year, and petitioned the viscount to give him back the old Amell estate.

Thus it was himself and his father now, living practically at opposite ends of the house, a stretch of guest rooms between them, with servants and all. While many nobles remembered the scandal involving one of their own running off with an apostate, hardly anyone wanted to connect that to the family now living in the Amell estate, who went by their own last name. Mr. Hawke and his son were upstanding citizens. The rumor that they were both apostates was conveniently swept under the rug as they did favors for the city, helped the viscount's office, and the younger Hawke was good friends with the Captain of the Guard. A righteous and just sort of person you would be proud to call your neighbor.

But Hawke became restless too. He spent a lot of his evenings in the Hanged Man with his friends. One among them, a Grey Warden apostate without whose help they wouldn't have even made it to the Deep Roads in the first place. Anders always felt slightly uncomfortable wherever he was, a veritable fish out of water. But running around with Hawke for over a year now, he at least felt like he could trust him. They were both mages, and could speak candidly about their pasts. Hawke described the life of an apostate from birth, and Anders spoke to him about the Circle and his escapes. They talked nearly every day about making things better for mages, and how to achieve that goal. Hawke, who'd flirted awkwardly the first time he met Anders, put his own feelings aside for the time being and never let on again how he felt for him. He was too eager not to have the friendship ruined. Having Anders at his side was enough, romantic entanglement or not.

Though he did worry for his friend's safety. It was easy enough to have another cellar key made. It was less easy, however, to convince Anders to take it. Not a charity, not a handout, Hawke promised. Though he did drop sizable donations in Lirene's box every week, and regularly sent Sandal down to the clinic with fresh linens, bandages, and food. Anders, who liked Sandal, was less prone to sending him away than he would have if it was Hawke himself delivering it. The key was something different though. It was Hawke's own peace of mind, to know that Anders would have a safe place to run if templars or any other unsavory group came knocking.

Anders took the key grudgingly, resolving not to use it until one day when he had no other choice. In the early hours of the morning he was woken by a pounding on his clinic door. One of his look-outs was there to let him know that the templars were coming, that they'd heard of the Darktown Healer, and that he needed to get out. Grabbing just a small bag of essentials and his coat, Anders raced from the clinic and into the hidden cellar just a few steps from his front door. He heard the commotion mere seconds after the door shut behind him, and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Barely dawn. Hawke definitely wouldn't be awake. Perhaps he could just hide out in the cellar until the templars were gone. He didn't want to disturb the house after all.

Thinking he should at least move a bit further in for safety's sake, Anders trekked up the first flight of steps into the vast wine cellar. It always impressed him, the size of the place and how much it held. As he perused the bottles, waiting until it was safe, he thought about his clinic and how much damage there would be. There was nothing in there that was irreplaceable, but potions could get expensive. Or at least the glass vials could. Hawke always brought him ingredients whenever he left the city. Elfroot and spindleweed were always in abundance, but Hawke had been learning what else was useful, things that grew wild up on Sundermount.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and turned quickly, heart pounding, but it was just Hawke. Or… no, that wasn't Hawke. But the man looked a _lot_ like him. And Anders realized suddenly it must have been Hawke's father. For all he'd heard about the man, and for as long as he knew Hawke, he'd never met his father. Hawke looked almost the spitting image of Malcolm, though Malcolm's hair was longer with a bit of grey shot through the black. His beard also wasn't as full, as if he'd shaved a few days ago and was too lazy to keep it up. But the nose and jawline were the same. The anxiety heightened for a moment, then fled as he remembered that Malcolm Hawke was an apostate as well. He wouldn't turn Anders in, even if he was currently skulking around in his cellar.

"Hello," Malcolm said, somewhat nonchalantly considering there was a complete stranger in his house.

"Hi," Anders breathed. "I ah… sorry. I'm Anders. Hawke's friend. That is, Garrett. Your son."

Malcolm's expression went from bemusement to realization. "I see." He took in Anders' bare feet and patched coat, the only thing he had time to throw on over his loose linen pants before he fled. "Rough morning?"

"You could say that," Anders said, laughing a little. He felt self-conscious in his state of undress, but then, Malcolm was wearing a bathrobe and slippers.

"Had breakfast yet?" Malcolm asked, taking a bottle from the shelf.

"No, I don't want to impose," Anders said quickly.

"So you'll be content sitting down here. Alone. For an undetermined period of time. Until… I assume, you'll leave the way you came." Malcolm raised a dubious eyebrow. "Maker's breath, are all my son's friends such stubborn idiots?"

"Beg pardon?" Anders asked, slightly unsettled.

"I invited his other friend. The spiky elf? For dinner. He muttered something about mages and walked away like I was diseased. Is it the hair?" he asked, gesturing at his own head.

Anders laughed again, unable to help himself. "No, he's not overly fond of mages."

"Bad experience with magic?" Malcolm asked.

Anders nodded.

"Well," Malcolm leaned against the doorjamb, bottle hanging loosely in his hand. He ran his other one through his hair, fingers catching a tangle. He winced before sighing. "I'm going to go upstairs. I'm going to have breakfast. Alone. Unless you want to come. Garrett's been out all night and hasn't been back yet."

"Is he all right?"

"Aveline has him on some sort of patrol. I doubt he'll be in before supper tonight. So. You can stay here or…" He gestured with the bottle toward the stairs. "You can come keep me company. As one handsome apostate to another." He winked, then turned and went upstairs before waiting for an answer.

Anders felt his jaw drop, watching Malcolm's retreating back. He glanced over his shoulder, then toward Malcolm again, wondering if Hawke's father had just made a pass at him. "Maker, I'm really out of it," he muttered. He weighed his options, and his growling stomach made up his mind for him. Deciding that flirting must run in the Hawke family genes, he followed him upstairs. Free breakfast was, after all, free breakfast.

-

Malcolm gave Bodahn and Sandal the week off. He honestly just wanted the house to himself for a bit to cook and enjoy the silence and solitude. Not that Garrett interrupted that. They talked almost daily, usually over a quick lunch. He'd never been part of the 'idle rich' though, and it was a bit maddening to be cooped up inside all day. He understood his son's need to be out of the house as much as possible. For his own part, he'd spent a lot of the time in the library, picking through books on Chantry law. Dull and boring, but his late wife's parents didn't have much on magic and magical theory. It wasn't as if he could pop down to the merchant's square and order a book he remembered reading in the Circle, either. Not when the suspicion of apostasy hung so heavily over their heads.

He was waiting on word back from Carver, who would have better access to those books. While his decision to become a templar was rather jarring, it wasn't completely unsurprising. He was, after all, named after one. His own mistake, he supposed, but Maurevar was a good man and Malcolm had no regrets in honoring his name. Besides, Carver understood the importance of family. Deep down, anyway. He always thought his boys would grow out of the phase where they hated one another. Perhaps in another twenty years.

The sounds of footsteps alerted him to Anders' presence, and without turning around, he gestured to the table. "Have a seat. Ready in a bit."

He'd chosen to eat in the kitchen instead of the dining room. After being raised in the Circle where he was never allowed to cook for himself, he took every opportunity to do so. Leandra, who grew up with servants, was happy to let him. He had several iron pans laid out over the stove, all heated through runes, enchantments, and his own magic. Eggs, bacon and sausages, a pot of beans. He couldn't help it. Though Kirkwall cuisine had a definite Orlesian influence to it, he would always be Fereldan at heart.

"Smells good," Anders said, sitting down.

"You can take off your coat." Perhaps he was laying it on a bit thick, the flirting. But in the Circle it wasn't required to be anything but straightforward. Leandra had flirted with _him_ and he didn't quite get it until her tongue was in his mouth at one of the Viscount's parties. After… well, they'd been on the run. And none of the nobles in Kirkwall struck his fancy. He started to see why Garrett spent all his time in Lowtown now.

Anders laughed a bit nervously, but there was a shuffling of fabric, and when Malcolm turned around, he had a very nice view. A blush rose against the pale skin, and Malcolm decided to ease off just a little. No need to send him running like a scared rabbit, after all. And he wouldn't push. He set to preparing two plates and then sat next to Anders instead of across from him.

"So why hasn't Garrett ever brought you around before?"

"I'm rather busy," Anders made the excuse for his friend as they ate.

"I suppose it's nothing to do with me, then." Malcolm sighed lightly. "When he was little, he used to follow me about, demanding I show him more magic. Always wanted my attention and I never had a minute to myself. It's a wonder the twins were ever conceived."

Anders sputtered a little.

Malcolm laughed. "You're skittish."

"I just… ah…"

"Not used to the bluntness? Didn't you grow up in the Circle?"

Anders looked down, frowning. "I was twelve."

"I'm sorry. I was six. I don't even remember my parents. But twelve…"

"It's fine," Anders sighed.

"No," Malcolm disagreed. "It's not. But I understand if you don't want to talk about it."

"I ran away from the Circle seven times," Anders said. "The last…" He shook his head. "No, I really don't want to talk about it."

Malcolm reached over unconsciously to touch his knee. Just a gesture of comfort, really. He knew how hard it was to go through something like that, which was why he fought so hard to keep his own children out of the Circle. He wondered if Anders had anyone once he was outside. Someone who really understood what the Circles were like. Or if he'd been on his own this whole time

"Then we won't talk about it," he said quietly.

They ate in silence, Malcolm contemplating his next move. When Anders' plate was cleared, he gestured at it.

"Seconds?"

Anders shook his head. "No, thank you. It was delicious. I think I should be getting back to my clinic, though."

"You could. Or you could stay," Malcolm offered. "We could talk about the Circle. Or magic. Or something else…"

Anders looked up at him, his expression ambivalent. It seemed as if he wanted to say yes, yet there was a lingering doubt. Malcolm reached up, slow enough for Anders to pull away if he wished, and tucked a lock of Anders' hair behind his ear. Then he leaned in, waiting for the rejection, found none, and kissed him.

-

Anders' emotions were a tempest inside him. A very gorgeous man, who'd just fed him breakfast, was kissing him. And he was kissing back. It was only polite after all. Malcolm was everything he wasn't, or rather everything he wished he could be. He ran away from the Circle, he made a family. And now he was respected. Maybe not for his apostasy, but for other things. He was making his own life. A mage who believed in freedom for all mages. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the thought that he should return to his clinic to see if the templars had left.

Malcolm pulled away and offered his hand. Anders stared at it for a moment, considering all his options. Regardless of his work, his mission, he was after all, only a man. A man possessed, but a man nonetheless. And here was someone offering him a warm bed after a warm meal, with no strings attached. It had been a long time since he'd been with anyone, not since the Wardens. _What harm could it do?_ A sting of annoyance flared in his mind as he reached up and took Malcolm's hand.

_It's just a slight distraction,_ he tried to rationalize, his heart pounding in his chest. His insides squirmed pleasantly when Malcolm smiled and pulled him from the kitchen. Their fingers entwined, Anders followed him through the estate. He'd seen it before. Hawke gave him a quick tour before they were off again. But the place was so vast that Anders was sure he would get lost without someone guiding him. Malcolm's bedroom was large and untidy, the bed unmade and clothing strewn on the floor. Anders imagined that Hawke's room would likely look the same. He pushed thoughts of his friend away, a slightly guilty feeling starting to form in his chest.

"It's been quite some time since I've been with another man," Malcolm admitted softly, pulling Anders close. He brushed a lock of hair off his forehead, then leaned in to kiss him.

Anders tried to stop thinking about the other things he could be doing right now. The other things he needed to be doing right now. Malcolm's hands were warm on his bare waist, and he stepped closer into the embrace, moaning as their hips met. He felt the beginnings of Malcolm's arousal, just a few thin layers of cloth between them. Malcolm let him go to remove the bathrobe and pull his shirt off, and then they were similarly clad. He smiled, and Anders couldn't help laughing softly.

"What is it?" Malcolm asked, pulling him close once more, kissing the stubble on his chin, trailing along his jaw to his ear, where he nipped the lobe.

"I simply never thought…"

"You're free now," Malcolm whispered, running his fingertips along Anders' spine. "You don't ever have to go back."

The words were more arousing than anything else Malcolm could've chosen to say or do. "Oh…"

"I had to keep telling myself that, too," Malcolm said, ducking his head to kiss at Anders' neck and collar bone. "When I left, I had nightmares." He sank to his knees, leaning up to kiss Anders' stomach. He held his hips, thumbs brushing along the bones. "Maker, you're so damn skinny."

"Running a free clinic doesn't exactly leave time for – oh." Anders shut up as Malcolm loosened the ties to his pants, letting them slide down to pool around his ankles.

"Very nice," Malcolm commented, before taking him carefully in hand. He grinned up at Anders. "You can hold on if you need to."

Anders couldn't speak as Malcolm slowly drew back his foreskin, tongue tentatively flicking out at first to lick the head of his cock. He clenched his fists, then relaxed, one hand going to Malcolm's shoulder, the other in his hair. Though it had been a while for Malcolm, it was obvious he knew what he was doing, and Anders concentrated on his very clever tongue. Wet heat around his cock and he forced himself to look down, a quiet, whimpering moan escaping his lips. It was far too long since someone sucked him off, too long since he'd even been touched aside from a thankful pat on the back or arm. Grey Warden stamina aside, he had no idea how long he would last with these gentle touches, and he had a sudden desire to be fucked.

"Malcolm," he whispered, swallowing back another moan as Malcolm descended on his prick, sucking hard.

"Mm," he managed, mouth full.

"Can we," Anders breathed. "The bed. I want…" He hoped he didn't sound too needy.

Malcolm looked up at him, lips glistening, and smirked. "I could do this all day. Forgot how much fun it was to suck a cock."

"Maker's breath."

"Get on the bed, then. I'll take care of you, love."

Anders was reminded forcibly of Karl, his smile, watching his hair turn grey while they were in the Circle. He stepped out of his pants and climbed into bed, settling on his side, watching Malcolm. He was broad-chested like Hawke, though with less chest hair. The sparse, dark hairs there were turning grey as well, but Anders noticed as he pushed his pants from his hips that the thick curls at his groin were without a trace of silver. Malcolm took himself in hand, stroking slowly while he crossed the room to the nightstand.

"Elfroot."

"Handy for anything," Anders agreed. 

He took a breath as the bed dipped, then leaned up, his fingers curling around Malcolm's. Malcolm raised an eyebrow but nodded, and Anders leaned forward to lick experimentally. A shuddering breath from above emboldened him and he sat up fully. Muscle memory seemed to kick in, and he took Malcolm by the hips, lips tucked over his teeth, and began to bob his head slowly.

"Gorgeous."

Anders almost rebuffed the compliment, but he liked the way it made him feel. Malcolm didn't owe him anything, it wasn't empty praise. He used to be so very good at this, and just for a little while, he wanted that certainty back. Working hard, moving forward for mage freedom, writing his manifesto, he knew he was doing the right thing. Yet it was daunting, a huge task to undertake. But bringing pleasure to his partner? Instant gratification. It felt small and selfish and shallow, but it made him smile.

"All right," Malcolm breathed, pushing him back gently. He looked down at Anders, cupping his cheek, and brushed his thumb over his lips. "You are…" He took a breath. "Fucking beautiful, Anders."

"I…"

"Take the compliment. Hands and knees?"

Anders nodded. "I think so. Since it's been a while for both of us." He shifted into position, lowering his shoulders as Malcolm moved behind him.

He allowed himself to relax, just to feel as Malcolm stretched him. The familiar yet foreign feeling of fingers inside him caused him to shiver.

"I have my own scars," Malcolm said quietly, running the fingers of his free hand over Anders' back. "Fucking Chantry."

Anders shivered again. The intensity of his tone, his anger at the injustice. "The templars-"

"The Chantry," Malcolm corrected, leaning down to kiss the small of his back. "Templars are just men, like us. They follow rules. Power corrupts. The Chantry… Fuck."

Anders sighed, then gasped when Malcolm reached around and started stroking him. "The Chantry what?" he managed through his pleasure.

"Chantry allows it to happen." He gave his cock one last squeeze before spreading him carefully, pressing himself to Anders' hole. "Relax."

He tried to, nodding. "Please. Oh… Oh Maker." Anders whimpered, gripping the pillow as Malcolm pushed inside him.

Many thoughts raced through his mind as Hawke's father fucked him, fingers digging into his hips to hold him still. The Chantry, the injustices of the Circle. How good it felt to have someone touching him like this. Malcolm's warm breath against his shoulder. His clinic, how many people were probably looking for him right now. Hawke.

The last thought stuck in his mind. Hawke's smile, the way he would reach out and touch his shoulder, or ask if he was all right after a fight. How they would cast magic together, the feeling of having a friend again. Quiet, soft grunts in his ear. Suddenly being pulled back. He opened his eyes.

"Ride me."

Anders didn't argue. Kneeling now, hands on the headboard, he did as he was told, driving himself back, down onto Malcolm's cock. Malcolm's hand wrapped around his erection, slick from the elfroot potion, and the dual sensation of being filled, the pressure against his prostate, fingers over the head of his cock, and Anders became overwhelmed. Too many years between now and the last time, and the stimulation too much.

"I can't… I can't…" Anders whimpered.

"S'all right," Malcolm breathed. "Just feel. You're here. I've got you."

With another downward thrust, Anders came, his first non-solitary orgasm in years, the feeling of Malcolm's cock in his ass, arms around him, holding him. The overwhelming feeling increased, and despite his orgasm, an intense sadness filled him. This is all he wanted. Maybe not the sex, but the intimacy, someone to hold onto and share his fears and doubts with. Someone who would tell him it was all right. Someone…

"Hawke."

The whispered name was lost as Malcolm finished in two thrusts. Or at least, Anders forgot it immediately after it left his lips. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was lying in bed, a warm wet cloth cleaning him up.

"Hm?"

"You fell asleep for a second," Malcolm said quietly, smiling up at him. "Go ahead if you need to. I'll wake you later."

"No," Anders yawned, stretching. The bed was so comfortable, though. Soft and feathery and the exact opposite of his cot in the clinic. "I have work to do."

"I think we should talk first."

"Talk?" Anders' hazy brain was taking him toward unconsciousness.

Malcolm sat on the bed next to him and brushed the backs of his fingers across Anders' cheek. "You should have said something."

"What?" He didn't understand.

Malcolm's smile was soft, the crinkles around his eyes reminding him forcibly yet again of Karl. And he realized that Malcolm's eyes were brown, not green like Hawke's.

"I'm not the Hawke you wanted."

Anders was awake now, and sitting up, sputtering to apologize, confused when Malcolm only laughed and pulled him into a tight, strong embrace.

"I don't… I'm sorry," he tried.

Malcolm kissed his forehead. "Don't be. I had fun. But I would be a bad father to keep you from him. My son's a good man. I should know. I raised him." He smirked, and Anders saw where Hawke got his cockiness from. "I won't tell him about this. It'll be your decision. But Anders…"

"Yes?" he asked, ducking his head, scooting closer though the position was slightly awkward. He enjoyed the feeling of being held.

"Talk to Garrett. Soon. Don't let the opportunity slip just because you think it'll be hard. You've escaped the Circle. Learning to be free is the hard part. And learning to stop hating yourself… That's near impossible." He crooked a finger under Anders' chin and kissed him chastely. "Go to sleep. When you wake, you'll wash, I'll have a fresh set of clothing for you, then we'll go to your clinic together and put it right. And when Garrett gets back tonight you can have supper together. All right?"

Anders nodded. "Yes. All right."

Malcolm pushed him back down to the bed and covered him with a warm, puffy blanket. Anders yawned deeply, thinking about what was to come, and fell asleep.

-

"My father's stupid sometimes," Hawke said apologetically. "Setting this up like this."

Anders surveyed the dining room, candles lit, the faint scent of rose petals in the air. The crackling fire in the fireplace completed the ambience of a very romantic dinner, which was laid out on the long table.

"No, it's fine," Anders assured him.

"Thanks for coming, though. You need to eat more. Thought you'd be busy."

"I have been lately," Anders confirmed.

They sat, and Anders listened to Hawke talk about his patrol with Aveline, the latest news with Merrill and Isabela and Varric. He carefully skirted updates regarding Fenris, and stopped mid-sentence.

"But what's going on with you?" he asked, leaning forward. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Anders took a breath, setting his fork aside. "I think we should talk, actually."

Hawke frowned. "That sounds bad. Are you all right?"

Anders smiled softly. His reaction was just so very… Hawke. He always put his friends first. It was endearing. "I'm fine." He took a breath and slid his hand over the polished wood of the dining room table, and covered Hawke's fingers with his own.

"Anders?"

The doubts in his mind, the nagging feeling that this wasn't good for the betterment of magekind, that he was wasting his time and he should be elsewhere, all fled as he remembered Malcolm's words.

"Do you remember when you flirted with me when we first met?"

"Sure," Hawke said. "Right after you yelled at me for coming into your clinic. It was sexy." He grinned.

Anders laughed. "Hawke, I… wasn't ready then to start anything with you. To be honest I'm not sure I should start something now. I'm not really good for anyone. I have duties. My cause. My clinic. I-"

Hawke shut him up with a kiss, sloppy and impulsive and perfect. Anders had a thousand reasons to push him away, to say no. To tell him what a bad idea this was. But he didn't. He was terrified of falling in love, of allowing Hawke so close to him. It would only end badly. Hawke pulled back, looking at him intensely.

"But you're going to do it anyway?" Hawke asked hopefully.

Anders smiled. "Against my better judgment. Yes."

He laughed again when Hawke pulled him close once more and kissed him. Even if it was a bad idea, even if it all ended badly, right now he didn't care. He was happy with Hawke.


End file.
